Yoko

Dear Junebug,

Am I breaking up the band?

You and me and your dad lying on the grass looking at clouds,
Looking from your big brown eyes to your dads feeling like the luckiest person in the world,
Sitting in the bathroom all together trying to get you to go poop on the potty for an hour,
Eating dinner together at one end of the dining room table,
Us chasing you around with a towel after a bath (how you love to run screaming through the house naked, I hope you never lose that),
Walking to ice cream your little hand in mine and the other in your dads’.

And now here he comes.
Your little brother.
Another season on the horizon.
As the snow melts into spring, your world is about to change.
Here comes the son.

There’s a story about Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis I read years ago that I can’t stop thinking about;
someone remarked on the obvious bond between her children, Caroline and John, and she had this reply:
“That,” she said “is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

But aren’t I breaking up the band, Jackie?

The truth is, he is for you.
The best gift I could ever give you.
Santa’s got nothing on me.
He is for you, and you are for him.
I can give you to each other.

You won’t know a time without him and he won’t know a world without you.
And before I know it, it won’t even be my band.
Something Jackie had the wisdom to know.

So, I’ll break up the band.
And try my best to be wise.
And give my children to each other.